


Dumbledore's Cloak - Pawns to the Master

by James_Usari



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eaters, Gen, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22449694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/James_Usari/pseuds/James_Usari
Summary: After a year of the Dark Lord's control of the Wizarding World and the Ministry of Magic, as well as Hogwarts School, the second and final defeat of Voldemort brings with it a new era of peace. Not for everyone, however. For Ministry auror Basilieus Armantello, the struggle is set to continue. The world still needs to find friend from foe, who was under the imperius curse and who was helping Voldemort willingly. Those who have gone missing need to be recovered, or their death recorded. And Death Eaters, survivors from the Battle of Hogwarts with noting to lose but a trip to Azkaban, roam the land like they did when Voldemort was first defeated, to be hunted down one by one.Basilieus Armantello, at the behest of the Department of Mysteries and a letter personally received from an anonymous sender, has an even more special and secretive task. Some of Dumbeldore's personal possessions have gone missing, looted by Voldemort's followers during the Battle. It is still unknown what powerful artefacts the old headmaster possessed, and the Ministry needs them secured. This will take Basilieus on a mission that will have him question everything he and the Wizarding World know about the Hero who defeated Grindelwald.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. The Man who Lived

Chapter 1

The Man who Lived

It is strange how little the world can be affected by the most monumental victories and changes. How much it changes, but how much it stays the same. As the sun slowly set beyond the Scottish hills, casting an orange glow over the castle that Harry had spent the last seven years of his life, he thought about how time just keeps moving. He had never stopped to think what victory might be like. It had been so elusive, so far beyond his grasp until the very end. Inside, however, he had imagined how time would slow to a crawl, how everyone would celebrate like they had told him happened last time. The stars would shine brighter, the sun would be the warmest on his skin, and the air would be sweet and cooled with a lovely soft breeze.

Victory, as it appeared, smelled mostly of charcoal and ash. The pungent, perforating smell of burnt and burning wood hung throughout the Hogwarts courtyard. The sun wasn’t really giving off the warmth he had imagined, and the air was cold and undisturbed. Inside the castle the smell had even more of a presence, and Harry had chosen rather to sit outside where he couldn’t see the damage done to his castle, his home, or where he couldn’t hear the reverberating wails of the wounded echoing upwards. It was incredible how people kept on fighting even with entire limbs soaked in blood, but after the adrenaline had seeped from the collective body of fighting men, women and children it became clear that a lot more damage had been done than originally though. In the silence of the aftermath, some people had dropped down screaming on their own accord. On top of all that, the people who had died had been placed in neat rows with equal spacing between them. Most had been covered by black cloaks, with ministry bureaucrats lifting up a cloak here and there for identification.

A few minutes before, the black-clad hat-wearing ministry spooks had arrived. They had apparated just outside the gates as a manner of courtesy, but it was clear that professor McGonagall had temporarily lifted the spell which stopped people from appearing inside the castle. The spooks hadn’t said a word to him yet, rather leaving him be, seated on a piece of rubble. His eyes would drift across the rows and rows of deceased. Voldemort was among them, he knew. He was half expecting him to rise from the grave when he was not looking, disappearing to Albania again, due to some oversight Dumbledore had made. It felt different, though, and deep down he knew it wasn’t happening. The mind of Voldemort had been utterly destroyed, there was no link anymore. His body was there, somewhere among the others, which felt like both scoffing at his wish to stand above all mortals, but also at the sacrifice others had made to defeat him. Periodically, aurors would come out of the castle, a floating mass covered by another black cloak just behind them. They didn’t speak a word. Nobody did. The courtyard was silent but for a few hastily-issued orders here and there.

“Found him by the lake, in a boathouse…”

The wind was just right for Harry to hear a spook talking to one of his colleagues, who raised a corner of the covers. The woman quickly closed her eyes, massaging her temples with both hands.

“Just… put him with the others” she said, and the man let the body float neatly in line with the others. It felt disrespectful in some way. His own blisters had not entirely been healed from that day at Shell Cottage, and to see scores of bodies being piled up without even so much as a bit of effort felt wrong. It was too easy.

“Harry…” he heard a familiar voice say. Without giving so much as a peep, Ron had managed to sneak up on him. That, or he was just too deep in thought. There was no smile on his voice, and Harry only gave the slightest nod to his friend. Ron sat down beside him, finding another flat piece of debris to support him. He folded his hands, resting the weight of his upper body on his knees. It was clear he was trying to say something, but the silence that hung around the courtyard was strong like steel, and equally hard to break. The thought that Lavender Brown was laying somewhere close to them probably didn’t do him much good either.

“Hey” he said eventually, more into the void than at Harry in particular.

“Hey” Harry answered, him too whispering it into the cool evening air. A few more moments ticked by. It was seven minutes to eight, a specific amount of time Harry never thought would matter much after the defeat of Voldemort.

“I always imagined there would be butter beer, you know” Ron said, now looking at his friend. Harry looked back, and saw the half-smiling face of Ronald Weasly looking back. Ron always had a peculiar way to make him feel better, by talking about absolutely trivial matters. They could talk about trivial matters again. Trivial was a sign that everything was going back to normal. Much to his relief, Harry cracked a smile as well.

“Yeah, me too…” Harry lied. Coming to think of it, it would be nice to have some butter beer. Might as well go down to Hogsmeade, since there was nowhere else to go. What else could they do? Hermoine would have to repair her parents, and Ron would probably go home to grieve over his brother. What would he do? Go to the Order? Who of them was still left?

“Some bloke asked for you, by the way” Ron said, unaware how helpful he was by derailing Harry’s train of thought. Harry looked questioningly at his friend.

“What bloke?” he asked, to which Ron raised his shoulders.

“Dunno. Some minister bloke. He asked me a few questions about the battle, names and such for a report”

He noticed the disgust that crawled across the face of Harry, and tried to offer some half-hearted comfort.

“It will only take a minute”

Somehow, that only made it worse for Harry. If he looked at all the cloak-covered bodies, and to think they would be reduced to a number and a line in a ministry report, to be covered in a layer of dust in the monumental archives. The battle of his lifetime reduces to paperwork.

“Right” Harry said. There was no point in arguing about it, Ron was just the messenger after all. The sooner he could get this done, the better. Harry stood up, dusted off his pants, and looked at the entrance to the castle.

“He’s in the Defence Against the Dark Arts office” Ron said. Harry nodded, gave Ron a dry smile, and started walking. Navigating the castle was strange. He had walked those halls for six years in total, and he knew exactly how to get anywhere. He didn’t have to think while going up the stairs, but he did have to pay attention to the rubble. Whole parts of the centuries-old staircases were smashed, Harry having to dodge the newly-created chasms. Some stairwells were cast down wholly, and more than once Harry needed to find another route up to the classroom. Here and there, House Elves were busy with brooms and buckets, sweeping away debris and cleaning stains Harry chose not to look at. His pace was slow but deliberate, his head held down in order to avoid looking at the destruction.

Entering the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was hardest of all. It looked nothing like the homely, slightly messy classroom of Lupin. The stained glass windows were scattered all over the floor, mixed with bone fragments of the dragon that had hung from the ceiling. Here too, House Elves were busy trying to rearrange the classroom back to its old configuration, but somehow that felt like a Herculean task the little creatures were not up to. Then he remembered Dobby, and knew they would certainly have the room cleaned up before midnight. The House Elves hardly acknowledged his presence, and Harry chose to take one of the few remaining seats in the corner of the room, staying out of the way of the creatures.

After waiting for a few minutes, which felt like another seven years, the door to the antechamber slowly opened. Watching it from the side, Harry couldn’t look in, but it didn’t take long before a girl with big curls walked out. She held herself as if she had just seen a troll, and Harry recognised that face immediately. Without looking around, she headed for the Serpentine Corridor, causing Harry to run after her.

“Hermoine!” he said, only barely managing to catch up to her. A few House Elves had to jump out of dodge to be missed by his racing legs. Hermoine turned around, and her face lit up slightly.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, throwing herself around him. She had taken to hugs a lot since the end of the battle, and neither Ron nor Harry had minded that much. They all needed a bit of comfort now that all was over.

“Hermoine, what happened? What is this about?” Harry asked frantically. Hermoine opened her mouth to speak, but then her eyes wandered back to the antechamber. Harry could hear a stern voice speak from the back of the classroom, and he turned around to see the source.

“Miss Granger” the voice spoke, originating from a tall figure standing in the doorway. “You promised”

The figure was but a silhouette, a dark figure contrasting with the light that flowed from the office. Harry looked back at Hermoine questioningly, but she quickly closed her mouth.

“I’m… I’m sorry” she muttered. She took a few steps back, then turned around and went out the room, in the same slow but steady manner Harry had arrived in. Harry turned around again, slowly walking towards the antechamber, his eyes slowly making out more features of the figure.

“Would you please come in, mister Potter” the voice said, still stern. The figure turned around and disappeared into the office. Harry hesitated for a moment, but his old plan of ‘the sooner this is over, the better’ soon took over again. He dragged himself to the door and into the office. His eyes had to adjust to the lightning, which was given off by a red-orange flame floating about five meters above them. The flame acted more like a sun than a fire, its tongues shooting in every direction rather than just one. It made the sound of a hearth fire and gave the room a pleasant hue, and it provided a comfortable warmth. The man could now be seen entirely, but there was little remarkable about him. He wore a black cloak like any auror of the Ministry. His hair was brown and a bit fuzzy, as if he had worn a cap for a long time and has just taken it off. He placed a few papers in a suitcase, took a few others out, and turned around, taking a seat on the other side of the desk. He didn’t even bat an eye at Harry, rather choosing to fiddle a bit with the documents. Without looking he extended his left hand towards the other seat in the room.

“Please, sit” he said. Harry obliged. The man spoke very atonally, sounding like a bad stage actor doing his lines. While the auror was rearranging his papers, Harry took the time to look around the room some more. The office was almost untouched by the battle, it seemed. A small window on the side had shattered, and a few stacks had toppled over, but apart from that the office was still intact. The only additions were the suitcase from which the ministry spook had gotten his documents, the flaming ball above them, a wooden box on the desk itself and a heavy black trunk, half-hidden behind the desk. The auror moved his hands to the wooden box, opening it to reveal something that looked like an egg carton: twelve glass balls in two neat rows, with place for two more. The man took out one, took his wand from the desk, and put it to the glass.

“ _Matrix”_ he whispered, and the ball started to emit a faint blue glow. It left the auror’s hand and settled hovering above the box, looking like a kind of very content glass bumblebee. With a wave of his hand, a piece of paper and a self-writing quill started hovering as well. The auror folded his hands and for the first time looked at Harry. For the first time, too, Harry noticed the deep grey eyes of the man, which looked much like Luna’s.

“Mister Potter, I am acting auror Basilieus Armantello. Could you state your full name and profession for the record?”

Again, the voice of the man sounded like that of a bad actor, just reading the lines he had been doing on stage for three weeks in a row. Harry looked confused, but then noticed the happily buzzing glass orb, filling with smoke with every word they said, and noticed he was being recorded.

“Harry James Potter…” he said, stopping abruptly. His face turned to a pensive scowl, which Armantello seemed to notice.

“Student” Armantello added. Harry looked at him with a questioning gaze, but the auror dispelled that quickly.

“The ministry doesn’t recognise ‘hero’ as an occupation, I’m afraid”

For a moment, Armantello seemed to drop his façade, but he regained it incredibly quickly. A faint smile that had conjured across his face seeped away, replaced by a look of stern indifference.

“I am going to ask you a few questions, mister Potter, about the last year. Please answer these questions as honestly and accurately as possible. Lying to a ministry official…”

“So the ministry has branded me a liar again?” Harry shot back. He was growing more irritated by the minute. Paperwork, recordings, questions… The ministry had not changed, it seemed, still getting their kicks out of drowning everyone else in their bureaucracy.

“No” Armantello said in a very matter-of-fact way. “It is not my policy to allow you to perjure yourself. As you might have noticed, I am reading from a handbook here”

Harry cast his head down, giving a half-hearted apology. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay” Armantello said quickly.

“So” he continued, unabated. “Where were you on the night of the 30th of June 1997?”

Seeing Harry’s confused look, Armantello decided to expand.

“The night Albus Dumbledore died” He said. Harry sighed.

“The Astronomy Tower” he answered. “I was there when…”

“How did he die?” Armantello cut him off. Harry gave him an accusing look.

“I was just about to tell you. I was there when he was killed by…”

“Alright” Armantello cut him off again. “Who killed him and in what manner?”

“I was about to tell you!” Harry snarled. “This would go a lot faster if you just let me talk!”

“No, mister Potter” Armantello said, this time stern and unfriendly. “This would go a lost faster if you followed my questionnaire. Please just answer the question”

“So you can put my name on the first page of the Daily Prophet again? Harry potter: the Boy who saw his friends die and did nothing?” Harry said, nearly slamming his hand down on the desk. He stopped himself at the last minute, but he still felt the adrenaline rage through his body. Armantello was silent for a moment.

“You don’t understand!” he retorted. There was an accusing tone to it, but also something else, a helpless hint to his words. “The ministry is a chaos. We need to know what happened over the last year. We need to know who to get. It may not have occurred to you, mister Potter, but some of us did not have the luxury to..." 

There was a moment of silence as Armantello stopped. Both men had had an explosion of emotion, and the sudden quietness of the room did much to calm the both of them. The quiet hearth sounds produced by the flame did much to bring a homely air back to the room.

“That was unfair of me. We got a lot of them, Harry. Death Eaters, I mean” Armantello said, calling him by his first name for the first time. He stood up from the desk and walked towards the open window. For the first time now, Harry noticed that Armantello was dragging his right leg, and it took him some effort to get across the room.

“But a lot of them escaped, too. We just want to get them before anyone else gets hurt, and we need information. They destroyed a lot of our records over the year they were in power”

He gave an apologetic look at Harry, who sighed, and nodded. Armantello smiled back.

“I will make sure this doesn’t take long”

The questioning went on for about half an hour. Harry explained how Dumbledore had been killed by Snape, but that it had been part of a plan. He pointed out that the proof of this was held in the pensieve. They talked about the hunt for the Horcruxes, about the betrayal of Lovegood, but how that was done under duress. Harry was quick to defend the Malfoys, whose house had been occupied by Death Eaters, and who had threatened to kill Draco if things didn’t go their way. When discussing the raid on the ministry, Harry couldn’t help but discover a slight smile around the lips of the auror. Finally, they touched on the battle of Hogwarts. They discussed who Harry had seen die, who he had seen escape, and who was killed by whom. That last bit was hardest, not only due to the chaos, but due to all the names Armantello blurted out. This was exactly what Harry had feared, as he saw the floating self-writing quill write down the names he mentioned.

“Lavender Brown”

“Killed by Fenrir Greyback”

“Severus Snape”

“Killed by Voldemort”

“Bellatrix Lestrange”

“Killed my Molly Weasly”

“Really? I thought Ronald was embellishing”

“He does that…”

“Remus Lupin”

A silence fall back into the room. The atmosphere had been tense, but understanding. The room was entirely cut off from the rest of the world by thick doors and walls, and situated high above the world. Nothing could get them here, but Remus’ name struck him harder than he expected.

“Murdered by Dolohov”

“We got him, thanks to professor Flitwick. Nymphedora Tonks?”

Another cut. Harry now felt his stomach turn, emotions welling up in him. He rested his head in his hands, hiding his face the best he could.

“Killed by… By…” he tried, but he couldn’t get it over his lips. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Armantello had silently gotten up from his chair, and now stood behind him. His hand felt warm and reassuring, and his voice was suddenly soft and kind. Gone was the voice of the bad actor, replaced by the soothing tone he would have expected from Lupin or Sirius in times of need. It was not half as powerful as them, though. He did not know. He would never know. But with all of them gone, everyone who ever knew gone, a tenth of the warmth they could have given was a welcome reassurance. 

“It’s okay, Harry. I think that is enough for today. I’m afraid you will have to make a few more trips to the Ministry in the coming months, but…” he said, flicking his wand at the blue orb. The blue hue disappeared, and the smoke that had filled the glass orb rained down into a blue liquid. It flew into the suitcase on its own accord.

“I don’t think it needs saying, but for all official intents and purposes: guardianship of Edward Remus Lupin has been transferred to you, following the death of his parents and your status as godfather. You’re free to go, until further notice. But you’ll have to promise not to talk to anyone, it might influence how other people remember the events.”

That news worked wonders on Harry. His mind had been so stuck in the past that he didn’t know what to do in the future. Now, he was reminded. He had a young Teddy to care for, raising him lovingly like his own parents would have if given the chance. He had a lot of work to do, and with Death Eaters on the run, he could still be of great service. He felt lifted, both in spirit and body, as Armantello helped him up from his chair. Harry walked towards the heavy door of the office and opened it, ready to leave. Armantello sat down again behind the desk again.

“Oh, mister Potter, before you go…” he said, causing Harry to turn around.

“Tell me… Out of personal curiosity. The will of Albus Dumbledore mentioned a book of fairy tales, with a special mark at the Tale of the Three Brothers. We know Voldemort targeted Grindelwald, and the wand makers Gregorovitch and Olivander. Do you know why Voldemort targeted these three individuals specifically?”

Harry faked a thoughtful expression for a moment, then pulled up his shoulders and shook his head. “Not a clue, sir” he said, walking out of the room. Armantello stood up, dragged his leg along to the door, and watched the Chosen One leave the classroom, greeting the entering Neville Longbottom along the way. Harry stopped for a moment, thinking if he should tell Neville what was going to happen. Armantello saw that, and with a stern voice warned Potter.

“Mister Potter, you promised”

With that, Harry gave an apologetic look and left the classroom.

“Mister Longbottom…” Armantello said, as sternly as before. “Would you please come in”


	2. The Plunge

Chapter 2

The Plunge

Basilieus Armantello finished his day’s labour by sending a frizzle-haired Hufflepuff Second Year out of his office. The boy was clutching a piece of chocolate and greedily broke of little pieces to stuff in his brown-marked mouth.

“Don’t forget to chew, mister Maine!” Basilieus yelled after him, but the boy had already left the classroom.

“Remarkable…” He whispered under his breath. The boy had lived through a dementor attack and had been just seconds away from a Kiss when McGonagall’s cat patronus came between them. He had shown remarkable perseverance, though. Basilieus would leave it to some ministry underling to tell him that his mother was awarded a stay in Askaban. They would find out who had been under the imperius curse later, when enough veritaserum had been brewed. 

Content, Basilieus limped to his baggage. Procuring his wand from an inner pocket, he began directing his things like a conductor would, playfully luring them into the suitcase. The last ball of blue liquid disappeared into the case, which attached itself with a click to his suitcase.

_“Extinctus”_ he muttered under his breath, pointing his wand at the fire above him. The fire let out a little puff, like a small giggle. Basilieus sighed.

_“Extinctus!”_ he repeated, this time with a hint of exacerbation in his voice. The flame let out more puffs now, sounding more like active laughter than a giggle.

“I’m warning you. I am not going to negotiate terms with my night lamp”

_Puff puff_

“Yes, Hogwarts is beautiful, I know. We might even come back. Now _come along.”_

_Puff!_

“Alright, you little… _Aguamen…”_

Before Basilieus could finish the spell, the flame quickly retreated back into his wand. Basilieus smiled, tapped his suitcase with it, and put it back into his inner pocket. He continued to half-walk half-limp out the office, just slow enough to allow the suitcase to extend its four metal limbs. Like a loyal dog it followed Basilieus, its cast iron appendages ticking away against the cold stone floor. From an especially ornate hat stand he took his beige coat, his hat and his blue-silver scarf, which he wrapped tightly around his neck. The hat stand went limp immediately after Basilieus had taken off the scarf, and then curled around the suitcase like a snake, its top seemingly forming the head of this strange creature. Together they walked out into the Serpentine Corridor.

Arriving to what was once the staircase, it was not hard for Basilieus to find his new supervisor. As the highest ministry official on the scene. With Kingsley Shacklebolt having moved to London, command fell to Elizabeth Diggory, who oversaw the clean-up. Dressed head-to-toe in black, she was the epitome of an auror. It wasn’t even regulation, but the dour aurors wore black like a badge of honour. Even the persistently cantankerous Moody had opted for something less grim than the black.

“Heading off, Armantello?” she said as she swivelled around on the heels of her boots, turning to face him directly. A rumour went around the ministry that Diggory’s surroundings were permanently hexed, so no-one could sneak up on her.

“My job’s done for the day” Basilieus said. “I even got half of tomorrow’s list done”

“Right…” Diggory responded. “Well, see you in the office then”

Basilieus tipped his hat and started for the blasted-open doors of the castle itself, before stopping dead in his tracks.

“Oh, Elizabeth, where are the toilets again? I don’t apperate well on a full bladder, you know…”

“To the stairs, one floor up or down should have working toilets” she said, pointing in the direction of a flight of stairs. “It’s next to the…”

“Alright, Elizabeth. See you around!”

As the sun began setting behind the distant Scottish hills, the atmosphere of the castle changed dramatically. Only a few hours before, the castle had been filled with people. Tired, saddened, hurt, broken people, but people nonetheless. Even after the great struggle that had unfolded in its ancient halls, the people of Hogwarts emanated the homely feeling that the castle radiated unto all its student and staff. These halls had not been empty in almost a century, but as darkness fell onto the Hogwarts Valley it brought with it an eerie silence. Students had been sent home for an indefinite period, while staff had either gone home to recuperate or travelled to the Ministry in order to solicit help. Minerva McGonnagal herself was traveling down to Beaubatons, leaving just the house elves to care for the castle and the grounds. Basilieus passed a few, greeting them as he wandered the vast corridors.

Instead of passing to his left, into one of the few still functional bathrooms, Basilieus walked down the first floor and took a right into the library corridor. The thousand shelves of books had remained remarkably untouched by the battle that had raged outside. Here and there a case had collapsed, but wherever such had occurred the books stood neatly stacked, one stack per topic, organised alphabetically according to the author’s name. A slight smile drew across Basilieus’ face. Madam Pince had not changed a bit since he graduated; no doubt the books were hexed to organise themselves in her absence. The library was still illuminated by hundreds of candles encased in glass orbs, floating to and fro between the bookcases.

“Madam Pince?” Basilieus said, his voice softened by his primal fear for the vulture-like librarian. There was no response?

“Madam?” He said, this time somewhat louder. There, again, was no response. Basilieus let out a sigh of relief, although is pace was still quiet and reserved. His stride was so restrained that he seemed to float through the library, carefully checking every row before walking past. He knew exactly where to go, his legs carried by muscle memory. As he passed a corner, he came eye to eye with a cast-iron door, hanging crooked in its hinges, its lock blown our unceremoniously.

“Merlin’s beard…” Basilieus whispered. He suddenly realised the eerie quiet of the library again. There was not a creek, not a sigh, not a whisper of the wind. With his hand trembling almost unnoticeably, Basilieus drew the wand from its holder around his hip.

“Madam Pince?” his soft call sounding like a bellow in the empty room. A cold gust of wind blew through the hall. Basilieus’ heart began to pound in his chest. It almost exploded in his ribcage as he saw something move in the corner of his eye, coming from behind a bookcase. He swallowed. An ambush. He should have known. He twisted and twirled the wand in his hand. It would have to be a sudden movement, quick and steady. In his head he went through the Death Eaters still unaccounted for. Among them were enough that could kill with their bare hands. Werewolves and maniacs, Voldemort fanatics with nothing to lose…

With a sudden jerk he rotated his body, aiming his wand squarely at the figure that had appeared behind him. He emptied the contents of his lungs in a bellowing cry, his hand tightly clasped around his wand.

“PETRIFICUS TO…”

He managed to stop himself from finishing the last syllables. Before him stood not one of the black-robed followers of Voldemort. Instead, his own gaze was met by the blue eyes of Poppey Pomfrey, head of the Hogwarts Infirmary. She looked a bit startled, but her face was also bemused. The last air Basilieus had in his lungs he let out in an audible sigh.

“You frightened me for a moment, madam” he said, lowering his wand.

“I see, mister Armantello” she answered.

“You remember me?” he said, wondering. He quickly returned his wand to his hip holder, reaching out to shake her hand. She gracefully did him the courtesy of returning the gesture.

“Yes, of course, Basilieus. My memory for faces was only matched by professor Dumbledore” she said with a grin. The name of the old headmaster still held a lot of sway, and Basilieus felt his shoulders slump. The mourning of the last year came in waves, Dumbledore only being the first death in a long line. Every family had lost someone, either through targeted killings or through disappearances.

“How’s Anastasia?” Pomfrey asked, apparently feeling Basilieus’ darkened mood.

“I haven’t heard from her in a while” Basilieus answered, answering the shocked look in Pomfrey’s eyes with a curt nod.

“I’m sorry, Basil, I didn’t know” she said. Basilieus simply shook his head. “Don’t you worry” he replied, a bit too quickly to be believable. “So, have you seen madam Pince anywhere?” He added just as rapidly. Pomfrey nodded.

“She got hit by a piece of rubble when the astronomy tower was blown. She just keeps asking if her library is safe, she wouldn’t let me go if I didn’t go check”

“Ah”

“And? Is it?” Pomfrey said, her welcoming blue eyes suddenly turning stern. Basilieus felt a presence in the back of his mind, as if cold fingers tried to open up his head like a tangerine. Gathering his willpower, Basilieus managed to push back the fingers, as if hardening the shell around his mind against intrusions.

“Madam…” he said, his own gaze now turning stern. “Please stop that. You can just ask”

“Will you answer truthfully?” She retorted, straightening her back. 

“No. But you will get more out of me than _that_ way. Legilimency? ”

“You know how boys are. Never truthful about how they get hurt. Occlumency?”

“I’ve worked for the ministry for the past year. It really is a must”

The two stared at each other, now measuring each other up. Two people who had before underestimated each other now saw each other in their fullest light. Basilieus was regretting not finishing the syllables earlier, looking distrustfully at the doctor. Pomfrey had a distrustful, almost disdainful twinkle in her eyes. For a few long, dreadful moments, the two stood there, staring each other down. Pomfrey was the first to break silence.

“My patients need me, Mr. Armantello. I hope I will not come to regret that” she said, turning around and marching out the library. Basilieus turned towards the cast-iron gate of the forbidden section.

“Then we agree, madam” he said, walking briskly towards the gate.


End file.
